


Amaryllis

by milestofu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Male Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Size Difference, Wondrous Tails of Final Fantasy XIV (Tumblr Challenge)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milestofu/pseuds/milestofu
Summary: A compilation of drabbles I've written for theWondrous Tails of FFXIVevent on Tumblr.Pairings, ratings, and warnings—if applicable—are listed before each chapter.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. I'll be trying to achieve as many bingos as I can for a randomly generated SFW card as well as NSFW. Each drabble will feature my Warrior of Light by the name of [Karma](https://i.imgur.com/deukpHY.png) who is a male Viera and Dancer main, subclass Bard. He's kind of an asshole but has good intentions. Probably.
> 
> I will live vicariously through my writing until Square Enix adds male Viera to the game.
> 
> (Meet me outside, Square Enix.)
> 
> **This collection contains spoilers up to the end of 5.0**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Zenos yae Galvus/Karma  
>  **Rating:** PG-13
> 
> Written for my SFW bingo card; the prompts were "Conflict" and "Learning secrets."
> 
> Set sometime after the Royal Menagerie, except Zenos lives, and the whole Elidibus possessing his body thing doesn't happen. Instead, he is held in Ala Mhigo until he is suitably recovered to stand trial. Karma has terrible taste in men.

The door slams shut with enough force it rattles on its hinges. Karma tries very, _very_ hard not to sigh. He doesn't succeed because staring up at him is Zenos, his amusement obvious in the slight upturn of his reddened, kiss-swollen lips, the narrowing of his eyes.

He's so unbelievably smug. It's _infuriating_.

"I hate you," Karma tells him genuinely, muttering choice expletives under his breath as he climbs off of Zenos' lap and makes for the door. Zenos has nothing to say for himself—then again, he hasn't been able to speak since he awoke restrained to a bed in Ala Mhigo, bandages wrapped so thick around his neck they threaten suffocation, the wound underneath still on the mend, not yet fully healed.

Surprise, surprise, slicing open your own throat has consequences.

(As does keeping secrets you shouldn't be keeping.)

"How _dare_ you—" Lyse is fuming as she whirls around on him, unable to finish her sentence when he catches up to her. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides and it must take the patience of a saint for her not to lash out with how her body trembles. "Don't you know what he has done? How much pain he has caused?"

He does know. He's experienced it firsthand as the Warrior of Light and has a nasty, raised and discolored scar stretching from his stomach down to his hip from Zenos' blade to show for it. He's not a fool nor is he blind of the suffering Ala Mhigans have endured and continue to endure in their fight against the empire's rule.

"I've stood by your side these recent months, haven't I?" Karma asks, his irritation flaring.

"Sure, but how many times have you left it and stood by _his_ side, or laid in _his_ bed?" Lyse's voice is carefully restrained. He thinks it's none of her business. "All while my people have not only bled but also died because of him," she says.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from reminding her that he too has bled and nearly died because of Zenos. It's not an exclusive club. He heaves a sigh, lifts his shoulders in an exasperated shrug. He's never been good at navigating these sorts of delicate situations and even Alphinaud with his tendency to stick his foot in his mouth would have better luck.

"I hope the guilty conscience is worth it," Lyse says.

Karma stares at her for a few moments, unblinking, unmoving, and then—

"I needn't defend myself to you," he snaps.

Hurt crosses her face and her lips part to speak but he doesn't stick around to hear whatever she is going to say, merely turns on his heel an heads back to the room Zenos is held in, to the one person who doesn't hold him to such high expectations, to the one person who looks at him as a friend and not the means to an end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Zenos yae Galvus/Karma  
>  **Rating:** NC-17
> 
> Written for my NSFW bingo card; the prompts were "Alpha/Omega, Going into heat" and "Possessive."
> 
>  **Warnings:** A/B/O, dub-con (it is consensual but warning to be safe), and kidnapping.
> 
> Based on an idea where heats and ruts do not happen until you've found your mate. Karma has his ass handed to him, enters his first pre-heat, and makes questionable life choices. Hindsight is 20/20.
> 
> I swear not all of these will be Zenos/Karma but I've been in a Mood™.

Recovering after the events that took place at Rhalgr's Reach is both a mental and physical hurdle for Karma. He hates being idle and has been forced to rest or else risk opening the stitches spanning from his stomach down to his hip. Fucker broke a _sword_ on him. He doesn't care if Zenos is the crown prince of Garlemald and wiped the floor with him—he's going to kill him next time they meet.

It's only fair, really.

For now, however, he's stuck waiting for his body to heal. Y'shtola is amongst the wounded and whenever the healers come to check on him, he is stubborn in his insistence they tend to her instead. Honestly, he wishes they'd leave him alone; he's still so angry about his own shortcomings, about how he wasn't strong enough to prevent all of this from happening.

Karma is left to simmer in his frustrations, to stare at the same four walls, sometimes the ceiling if he's feeling particularly adventurous, until the healers deem him well enough to be released. He thinks this is all a waste of time because while he may not feel the best, the wound itself is healing nicely and shows no signs of infection.

He would know because he pokes and prods at it all day.

(He has nothing better to do with his time.)

***

Karma has to reconcile his wounded pride with the ugly, mottled scar tender to the touch after the stitches have absorbed into skin and he is cleared to do as he wishes. He says not a word to anyone about the lingering discomfort. His entire body feels… _off_ , unnaturally warm as if running a constant fever, his joints stiff with aches and pains, and that's not to mention the headache that won't go away, leaving him dizzy at times, on the verge of vomiting at others.

It's bothersome but he chalks it up to a side effect from bedrest.

He realizes he's a damn fool after arriving at port in Doma and having spent weeks irritable and sweating through his clothes. It's been many years since it crossed his mind outside of the visceral, knee jerk reaction of disgust at the comments made by fetishizing lechers during his travels because if it wasn't something about him being a Viera, it was something about him being an _omega_.

He's in pre-heat, which means he has mated, and there's only one person who could've triggered it when he thinks back to when his symptoms first began.

Needless to say, he is furious.

He understands now the concerned looks from the others when his back is turned—they've been reacting to the pheromones he didn't know he was emitting. It's a matter of time before they put two and two together and he's not at all happy about the vulnerability them finding out will bring nor the coddling.

Karma's stomach churns at the thought, and from then on, he might as well begin to bathe in a cocktail of perfumes in an effort to mask his scent. It doesn't really work, merely earns him more strange looks of which he pretends not to notice.

He finds avoidance a good enough substitute when he ducks out in the middle of the night after everyone else is either sleeping or isn't paying him any mind. He follows the winding path down to the lake he'd spotted earlier in the day, and when he reaches it, he sits down in the sandy dirt at its edge, and after removing his heels, he dips his toes into the water.

It is cold and acts as a soothing balm for his sweat-slicked skin. He exhales, his eyes closing, and listens to the sound of catfish splashing, the footfalls of prowling tigers on the ledges above, and further, the lapping of ocean waves washing onto shore.

Somehow, it's nostalgic.

He's nowhere near the jungle where he spent his youth but being on the same continent as it feels a lot like home; he desires for nothing more than to remain here for a while, to be left alone—to be free of this incessant ache.

However, he's not so foolish to believe that could be a reality.

Everyone wants or needs something from him, and while he's not the nicest or most agreeable person, he is hard-pressed to say no to those asking him for help, especially at a time like this, when people are actively suffering at the hands of Zenos, the same person responsible for why he feels borderline sick.

His eyes reopen, half-lidded they may be, and the scar gifted to him by Zenos' blade _throbs_ , as does his cock between his legs.

He is full of self-loathing.

***

Karma's chest feels like it's on fire. He chances a look at Yugiri lying unconscious, and while he is finding it difficult to breathe, his lungs struggling to expand, he can tell through the curtain of falling rain she is having no such troubles.

It's a small comfort but one he is thankful for.

Movement in his peripheral catches his attention and he quickly looks back to see Zenos removing his helmet, one of its horns sliced in half. Karma has to gnash his teeth together to keep from whining.

"Oh… how right I was to spare your life," Zenos says, his gaze shifting from the helmet held in his hand to Karma. His lips pull upward into an appraising smile. Karma swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry.

He needs to leave—he needs to leave _now_.

Zenos tosses the helmet to the side and takes a step towards him—

He makes a break for it but makes it halfway to Yugiri before Zenos closes the distance between them and grabs him by one of his half-flopped ears, throwing him face first to the ground hard enough he bounces. He's momentarily stunned, unable to move, his nose radiating pain as one of his arms is twisted behind his back, the other pinned beneath his own body.

Slowly, the shock wears off, and soon after does he begin to struggle. He shoves his shoulder back against Zenos with what strength he can muster. It's not very effective with how difficult it is to move, with how his body doesn't want to respond, the onset of his heat rendering him loose-limbed and uncoordinated.

Zenos leans down and scents him then, his breath warm against his neck. Karma immediately stills, and overwhelming is the smell of blood leaking from his nose, the mud smeared on his face, the crisp, falling rain, and through it all, he can smell Zenos, an alpha on the cusp of rut because of him, and him alone.

"So, it was you after all," Zenos says.

Karma curses internally, and no doubt have his perfumes washed off in the rain. He opens his mouth to reply, no doubt insult-laden, but the only sound he makes is an undignified yelp that is cut off as Zenos flips him over, wraps one of his gauntleted hand around his neck, and the firm press of leather and cold metal against his overheated skin has him shuddering.

He reaches upward with his hands that are now free and grabs onto Zenos' arm but makes no effort to force him to let go. He glares at Zenos whose pupils are blown wide with arousal. Karma can feel himself getting lost in them, his awareness of anything else hanging on by the thinnest of threads, fraying at the edges.

"What's it to you?" Karma manages to ask, his voice short of a wheeze.

"Courtesan after courtesan my worthless father has thrown at me," Zenos says as if talking about the weather. Boring. Uninteresting. "Distractions at best. Never satisfying," he says, and his grip tightens until Karma cannot breathe, his expression manic. "But you won't disappoint me, will you, hero?"

Karma's self-control severs and snaps.

He has been left wanting for so long, and in front of him is an opportunity for much-needed _relief_.

With surprising strength, he wrenches the hand from his neck, then grabs a fistful of Zenos' long, blonde hair, strands of it clumping together from the rain, and pulls him down. "Not if you don't disappoint _me_ ," he says, and kisses him as if he is a man starved.

Zenos, it seems, is eager to oblige and soon Karma's mouth fills with the taste of copper from the punishing scrape of teeth. He moans and what pain he is in is forgotten in the face of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His cock is already half-hard.

(He is wet and empty and it's all he can think about.)

It takes physical effort for him to break the kiss, to release his death grip on Zenos' hair, and even then, he is lightheaded, and his chest heaving. His lips are stinging but he doesn't care about anything other than Zenos being closer, and closer still, and the armor Zenos is wearing is a decided hinderance.

"Take it off," Karma demands.

Zenos is merely amused by him, if his smug expression is anything to go by. It is infuriating and Karma stubbornly pushes at his chest plate, his nails dragging across slippery, wet metal and don't leave a mark. He doesn't even know where to begin with removing it himself—he has always worn loose-fitted silks and other likeminded adornments that allow him maximum mobility for his dance.

"Patience," Zenos drawls with mirth, and Karma would throttle him if he thought his hands could fit around his neck, if his stupid fucking armor wasn't in the way.

Regardless of his words, Zenos releases the mechanism holding his sword holster roulette nightmare to his side. Karma watches the movement of his hands as he does, zeroes in on his fingers, long and thin, thinks of how they would feel inside of him.

Karma must zone out, though he isn't sure for how long—time has become an incomprehensible concept to him; the pheromones in the air have him near drunk—because the next thing he knows, he is being pushed further into the mud, Zenos bearing down on him.

It is nearly suffocating.

"Look at you, so close to _begging_ ," Zenos says.

In response, Karma bares his teeth, only to suck in a breath at the press of a hand against his ass through his bottoms. It lacks the bulk of the gauntlets Zenos is wearing, and when he looks down in confusion, he finds Zenos must've taken one of them off when he wasn't paying attention.

Sneaky _bastard_ —

Seemingly tired of the "pleasantries," Zenos catches him off-guard by sinking a finger into him, the sensation dulled by the fabric separating skin from skin. Karma groans, his head falling back into the mud, his eyelids fluttering closed. He isn't really thinking when he lifts his knees to his chest and presents himself.

He is still fully clothed, or at least as clothed as he usually is with his barely there silks, his silver, bejeweled necklaces, but instincts have taken over in place of rational thought and all he can focus on is his need for Zenos to keep touching him, whether it be with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

Please, keep touching him—

Zenos does, adding another finger, then another, the sound of fabric ripping going unnoticed stretching and filling him without care for working him open. Karma groans, and when he opens his eyes, Zenos looks at him like the cat who has caught and devoured the canary, bloodied feathers on his lips.

It sends a shiver up the length of Karma's spine.

" _Mine_ ," Zenos says.

"You can have me," Karma says by pushing back against Zenos' hand, urging him deeper— _harder_. He can barely breathe and when Zenos spreads his fingers, Karma's eyes roll back into his skull. It is a pleasant burn and he is so close, so very close.

His release comes quick but not unexpectedly, washing over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under the water, and he is unable to hear anything but his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Zenos continues to fuck him with his fingers through it and the aftershocks until it's too much to bear and Karma kicks at his face to get him to stop.

Zenos relents and oh, the emptiness Karma had felt earlier returns with a vengeance. He watches with morbid interest as Zenos makes a show of licking his fingers clean, one by one. Karma scrunches his nose in disgust, and though he knows he should regret this, he doesn't.

(Hydaelyn forgive him.)

"Come, let us take this elsewhere, I will not rut with you on the ground like a common beast," Zenos says as if he has _standards_ , and Karma would tell him off if he were not drifting, lethargy settling into the hollows of his bones. He blinks sleepily, his eyelids heavy, and he is barely aware of Zenos picking him up from the ground as if he weighs nothing at all.

"Karma!"

His head lolls in the direction of the voice and is greeted by the sight of Yugiri pushing herself up on her elbows. Her expression is panic-stricken, and she reaches for him, and though he feels disconnected from his body, from his limbs, he lifts an arm towards her—

He falls asleep to the sound of falling rain and Zenos' heavy, rattling footsteps.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** N/A; Thancred focused  
>  **Rating:** PG-13
> 
> Written for my SFW bingo card; the prompt was "Grooming each other (makeup/etc)"

"Forgive my interruption," Thancred says, setting the bags he'd been carrying onto the counter, "but I must ask… what is it you two are doing?"

Ryne looks at him from furiously mixing something in a small white bowl. Her eyes brighten in greeting. She is perched on the edge of a wooden chair pulled into the middle of the living room of her apartment, Karma sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, his hair undone from its usual braid and overflowing his shoulders.

"Ran into her at the markets and asked if she wanted to help me dye my hair," Karma says. "She needn't any convincing," he adds, and Ryne's cheeks flush in embarrassment. She returns her task of mixing with increased fervor.

Thancred hums and leans onto the counter with his elbows. He rests his chin on his folded hands. Years have passed both far too quickly and slowly and he'd nearly forgotten Karma's penchant for dyeing his hair on nothing but a whim.

"Well then," Thancred says, "what color will it be this time?"

"What _colors_ ," Karma replies and holds up one of two pots Thancred presumes to contain dye. "Pink and blue, hopefully. I'm not… sure if dyes work the same way here as they do on the Source," he says with a frown, his eyebrows furrowing as he sets the pot down. "The man I bought them from said they should work fine but he could've been full of shite to make a sale."

"Ah, the dreadful silver-tongued merchant," Thancred says. "I've met many capable of selling water to a man drowning if it meant more gil to line their already hefty pockets."

He's been fooled before and it had been one of the reasons he'd resorted to theft during his youth—simply put, it was easier and much more reliable to steal than to deal with the merchants when they saw him as easy prey.

It's not something he is proud of. He doesn't mention it.

Karma nods his head but there is a deeper understanding in his eyes. However, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappears as his lips slant upward into a smirk.

He proceeds to ask, "What color do you like best, Thancred? Pink or blue?"

There is a pause, and then—

"Absolutely not," Thancred refuses. "I will take no part in this."

Karma's smile widens in challenge and Ryne perks up behind him. She looks between him and Thancred, and as soon as realization dawns, her face lights up with absolute, unbridled excitement. She claps her hands together, the plastic gloves she's wearing crinkling, the small white bowl she'd been mixing in balancing precariously on her knee.

"Oh, please! Can we?" Ryne asks and it is a battle Thancred has already lost.

(Who is he to deny her?)

***

"'Tis not a bad look if I say so myself," Karma says as he runs a brush through Thancred's hair still wet from the shower. Its pink color is a far cry from its normal white.

"Narcissism is frowned upon, my friend," Thancred says without missing a beat. He scowls at Karma through the reflection in the fogged-up mirror. "You merely like it because it looks like yours," he says, and he _definitely_ isn't bitter.

Karma snorts. "Touché."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** N/A; Karma & Emmanellain focused  
>  **Rating:** PG-13
> 
> Written for my SFW bingo card; the prompts were "Bandaging wounds" and "Trauma."
> 
> I love one (1) Emmanellain de Fortemps and wanted to write the aftermath of Thancred absolutely _decking_ him. I must admit the "bandaging wounds" part of this is very loose if not nonexistent but I did my best!
> 
> Also, Haurchefant feels in the year 2020.

Barely any time has passed and already Emmanellain's face is beginning to swell where Thancred had punched him. His cheek and part of his jaw is turning an ugly, purple color with splotches of yellow, his split lip continuing to bleed freely no matter how many times he haphazardly scrubs at it, which is difficult considering how he is carrying Honoroit in his arms.

Karma, meanwhile, is nursing a building headache.

When they reach the infirmary, the chirurgeons take one look at Honoroit, and with abject horror on their faces, hurriedly take him from Emmanellain and disappear into the back of the room sectioned off by a curtain. One of the remaining reaches for Emmanellain as well but Karma intervenes, grabbing hold of Emmanellain's wrist, and pulling him back outside into the bitter cold, into the falling snow because when _isn't_ it snowing in Ishgard.

"No, I must stay with Honoroit—" Emmanellain protests, stumbling on the cobblestone.

"Honoroit will be fine," Karma interrupts him, his grip on Emmanellain's wrist firm and unyielding. Emmanellain looks as though he wishes to argue but soon does his expression shift and his shoulders slump in resignation.

 _Good_ , Karma thinks. _You reap what you sow_.

Thankfully, it is a short walk to House Fortemps and the guards standing outside are noticeably alarmed at the state Emmanellain is in. Karma pretends not to notice them as he breezes past and drags Emmanellain into the manor and through the halls until he reaches the door to the room he's fortunate enough to call his own. He opens it and once inside, lets go of Emmanellain's wrist in favor of pushing him towards the bed.

"Sit down," Karma says and closes the door.

Emmanellain does as he's told. His misery is obvious as he sits on the very edge of the bed, his head hung low. Karma leaves him there and heads into the attached bathroom, and after rifling through the cabinets found within, returns with a small bowl filled with water from the sink along with a washcloth and whatever else he found to be helpful and could carry.

It's nothing special, merely standard, medical fare of which he is familiar after decades spent on his own, healing magic the furthest from his area of expertise.

He sets everything down on the bed next to Emmanellain who doesn't acknowledge him at all, his attention fixed on the worn, wooden floorboards.

Karma wets the washcloth, then says, "Look up at me."

With what seems to be physical effort, Emmanellain lifts his head. He looks worse than he did before, the bruise having darkened but the cut in his lip has since clotted. He is a sight for sore eyes and Karma isn't surprised when Emmanellain flinches as he wipes away the dried blood, the wound and skin surrounding no doubt painful no matter how gentle his touch.

"Learned a valuable lesson today, yeah?" Karma sets the bloodied washcloth into the small bowl. He carefully places a hand beneath Emmanellain's chin, lifting his head more so, then to one side, and then the other as he scrutinizes his handiwork.

He is certain Emmanellain will be sporting a nasty bruise and swollen, busted lip for some time but otherwise will be fine. Thancred didn't hit him as hard as he could have.

"I'm… Yes, I have," Emmanellain says and averts his eyes. His body language speaks volumes of his anxiety. "It was unbecoming of me to behave in such a way, and I…" he trails off, and Karma can see how his hands clench and unclench into fists at his sides.

Heaving a sigh, Karma grabs one of the ointments he'd brought with him, unscrewing the cap and squeezing some of its contents onto the tip of his finger. Emmanellain flinches once more as he dabs the ointment from his finger onto the cut.

"'Tis nothing to worry about," Karma tells him. "Thancred merely punched you because you caught him at a bad time," he says, and it's the understatement of the century.

First, it was Minfilia, and then…

He can remember vividly the concern on Thancred's face after having found him _poisoned_ and _unconscious_.

"And you too have been struggling," he says, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, his throat tightens, his heart starts to race.

Emmanellain's eyes meet his own—

("A smile better suits a hero…" Haurchefant says.

_What kind of hero am I if I can't—_

Karma forces a smile at his behest and for the briefest of moments, Haurchefant's face lights up before his breathing seems to stutter then stop altogether, his head lolling to the side in Aymeric's lap.

 _—save you?_ )

"I will apologize to him," Emmanellain says. His voice is wobbly. "T-To Thancred."

Karma blinks and instead of Haurchefant staring back at him, it is Emmanellain. His lungs are burning, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He has to look away, his hands trembling uncontrollably as he struggles to screw the cap back on the ointment, and when he finally, _finally_ succeeds, he tosses it onto the bed, not caring where it lands.

He's so… _angry_ and frustrated all of a sudden.

Neither of them has dealt with the elephant in the room.

"See that you do," Karma says, "but pay a visit to Honoroit first. I'm sure he will wish to see you when he wakes," he continues, and besides, he'd like to talk to Thancred before Emmanellain has the chance.

Emmanellain's confusion is apparent, and then, "B-But of course, old boy!"

It is plain as day he is trying—and failing—to save face.

How foolish.

Karma shakes his head, but fondness swells behind his breast. He looks to the unused roll of bandages resting on the bed next to Emmanellain, and a lot of good they've done him.

"…Old boy?" Emmanellain asks.

His attention shifts back to Emmanellain. His lips curl upward into a smile and his only response is to pat Emmanellain's uninjured cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** G'raha Tia/Karma  
>  **Rating:** PG-13
> 
> Written for my SFW bingo card; the prompts were "Childhood discussion" and "Sprout."
> 
> Relative to how old G'raha is as the Crystal Exarch, and how long Viera lifespans are, the Crystal Tower questline could be considered as having happened during both of their childhoods. Honestly, Karma is still a youngin' and hasn't aged much since then but this is my shameless excuse to write soft vibes.
> 
> Posting this marks my first bingo!

It is strange, Karma thinks, how familiar lying in bed with G'raha is to when they were young and foolish and sharing a tent at the Find. G'raha is still warm and pliable beneath his hands and looks much like he did back then, the only differences being the whitening of his hair and the crystal. He knows, however, there are centuries stretched between them now, and no longer is he the eldest, nearly twice G'raha's age but still a sprout and wet behind the ears.

He finds it hard to reconcile the fact G'raha, the Crystal Exarch, is the same person as G'raha, a member of NOAH. G'raha has changed in many ways but has remained the same in others.

Both of them have grown, haven't they?

Karma hums, his thumb tracing the trail of crystal stretching up G'raha's cheek. It is smooth to the touch despite its appearance, and not cold as he expects it to be. G'raha's mouth opens to speak, and Karma really doesn't want to hear it; he closes the distance between them and kisses him until they are both dizzy. He pulls back only when G'raha is bereft, his lips shiny and wet, his face flushed.

It isn't fair by any means, but Karma had found during their investigation into the tower that the quickest way to shut G'raha up was to kiss him. It became a game between them, and Karma can still recall how annoyed Rammbroes and Cid were at their antics.

"Do you miss it?" Karma asks.

G'raha's confusion is obvious. "Miss what, my friend?"

"Saint Coinach's Find," Karma says and shifts in place, his foot brushing against G'raha's ankle. "Investigating the tower."

Realization seems to dawn on G'raha. He looks away, his eyebrows furrowing in contemplation, and there is this faraway look in his eyes. Karma waits somewhat impatiently and when G'raha's attention returns to him, the faraway look has been replaced with something Karma can't quite place—something deeper, and more meaningful.

"At times, I do find myself missing those days," G'raha says, and then, "but they were so long ago, and I was but a child then. I am embarrassed when I think of how naïve I was and the things I did without thought of consequence," he says.

Karma smiles in remembrance.

"I still haven't forgiven you for the whole aethersand debacle, I'll have you know," he says, his voice teasing. "Was it fun watching me run around the Shroud?"

"Ah… _that_ ," G'raha says, and he laughs quietly. "You nearly hit me with the chakram you threw at me where I was hiding in the bushes on the ledge above," he says. "Truly, I wonder if you missed on purpose."

"You were surprisingly well-hidden," Karma says and moves his hand to settle on the curve of G'raha's waist, his fingers drumming slowly to the beat of a song neither of them can hear. "I barely missed you if your yelp was anything to go by."

"Missed me by mere ilms," G'raha confirms.

"Serves you right, you were a cheeky little shite," Karma replies, and kisses him once more, the briefest press of lips. "Still are, sometimes," he adds.

G'raha laughs again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Haurchefant Greystone/Karma  
>  **Rating:** NC-17
> 
> Written for my NSFW bingo card; the prompts were "Size kink" and "Praise."

Karma isn't aware he's holding his breath until one of Haurchefant's hands finds his face, thumb brushing against soft skin as he is told to _breathe_. He exhales shakily and slowly continues the arduous task of sinking down onto Haurchefant's cock. He curses inwardly—it has been too long since he last slept with an Elezen man, and they have always been proportionate, Haurchefant no exception, filling him to the extent it is nearly too much.

It takes several long moments before he sits down fully. Haurchefant's hand is still on his face, cupping his cheek, and when he meets his eyes, there is such fondness in his expression. He has to remind himself to breathe again as his heart flutters behind all twenty-four of his ribs.

No one has ever really looked at him like that before.

Like he is something to be cherished.

"You are doing wonderfully, my friend," Haurchefant says, his voice taken on a deeper rasp. It must be taking all of his effort not to move.

Karma's response is to laugh, he doesn't need to be _praised_ , and he places his hands on Haurchefant's shoulders before experimentally lifting his hips, only to lower himself back down soon after. Haurchefant's groan goes straight to his cock, untouched and wanting, curved against his stomach.

" _Friend_? I think we've moved past that," Karma says, and without waiting for himself to adjust further, begins the slow rise and fall of his body until he's built up a steady rhythm. He has always been impatient. It is, however, a pleasant stretch, borderline painful, leaving him gasping, his blood boiling beneath his skin with each and every pass.

Haurchefant's hand moves from his face to join his other at Karma's waist, his hold surprisingly firm as it is gentle. "I would be honored," he says, teasing as he is earnest, and Karma is laughing again at the absurdity.

It does little to stop him from quickening his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them. He throws his head back, unable to stifle his moan at the feeling of Haurchefant inside of him, warm and thick. He thought at first his cock wouldn't fit but Haurchefant's deft fingers worked him open but even then, they were not enough to prepare him for what this would be like.

He feels ruined; he'd have it no other way.

"Forgive me but I fear I won't last much longer." Haurchefant's voice pulls him from his thoughts and he is in agreement. He feels like a teenager again, unable to keep from coming undone at the touch of another's hand, and since the day they met, there has been something about Haurchefant that draws him in—he is like the sun, and Karma is stuck in his gravitational pull.

He isn't stupid, he knew what would happen when he accepted Haurchefant's offer to join him in his private chambers, and as he fucks himself onto Haurchefant's length with increasing desperation, his thighs burning from exertion, he doesn't regret a single thing.

Haurchefant's hips move beneath him then, and Karma's entire body jolts at the sensation.

"May I?" Haurchefant asks him.

Karma can barely think straight and isn't sure what he's asking but nods anyway. He is caught off-guard when Haurchefant lifts him, leaving him scrabbling for purchase, until he finds himself lying on his back where Haurchefant had been sitting. He has the briefest moments of feeling unbelievably empty before Haurchefant is pressing into him as if he never left, the change in position allowing him deeper.

He groans and lets himself be taken, hooking his legs around Haurchefant's middle. He can practically feel him in his _throat_. He looks down between their bodies and he expects to see his stomach bulging but sees no such thing, merely watches as if in a trance at the sight of Haurchefant disappearing into him again and again.

 _It's too much,_ he thinks, forcing himself to look away. _This is more than I deserve—_

Karma is not expecting it when Haurchefant's hand wraps around his cock. He makes a rather unbecoming noise that he will later believe to be only _mildly_ mortifying.

With no real force, he shoves at Haurchefant's chest.

"'M not gonna," he tries to warn but Haurchefant merely strokes him faster, the tugs of his hand more insistent, purposeful, and really, that is all it takes for Karma to unravel, rutting into Haurchefant's fist like a man deprived.

"—absolutely beautiful," he catches Haurchefant saying with reverence when the ringing in his ears subsides. His chest is heaving, and he can feel Haurchefant's thrusts becoming sloppier, and with no real coordination, he pushes back against him, encouraging him to keep going.

" _Don't stop_ ," he doesn't say.

Needing no encouragement, Haurchefant leans over him, encompasses him in his arms as he fucks into him and it is not long before his hips stutter before stopping altogether as he buries himself to the hilt and goes still.

Karma closes his eyes and around them it is quiet aside from their labored breathing, the crackle of the fireplace, the wind howling outside.

Haurchefant calls his name, and he opens his eyes—

It is not Haurchefant flushed face he sees, rather the gravestone marking where he is buried, his broken shield leant against it, dusted in fallen snow, and the surprise is enough to have his heart racing, panic setting in before it all clicks into place.

Nothing but a memory…

"Karma," a voice calls his name again—the same voice as before, and he turns to find Alphinaud stood a few feet away. Even in the clothes he wears, tailormade to withstand the harsh, unforgiving climate of Coerthas, he shivers like a leaf from head-to-toe; Karma cannot blame him for his own teeth are chattering.

Neither of them do well in the cold.

"'Tis getting late, and we are to meet with Aymeric soon," Alphinaud speaks again, and it is obvious he is trying his best to be tactful. It isn't really working but Karma knows it's no fault of his own—he wants to give him a hard time if only to distract himself from the hole in his chest as wide as a yawning chasm.

"Yeah, yeah," he says instead and makes his way over to Alphinaud.

The wind howls as it did back then.

He doesn't look back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** N/A; Karma focused  
>  **Rating:** R
> 
> Written for my SFW bingo card; the prompt was "You getting sick / Taking care of them."
> 
> **Warnings:** Vomiting and mild body horror??? It's the bad end, y'all.
> 
> When faced with the inevitable, Karma takes Emet-Selch up on his offer to seek him out in the Tempest.
> 
> This chapter marks the end of this collection! I've managed to achieve three different bingos--two for my SFW card, and one for my NSFW card. I would've liked to write more but the event is ending and college kicked my butt.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Karma's eyes hurt as if he has been staring into the sun, his vision nearly drowned out by the smothering light. It crackles within him and his already slow gait comes to an abrupt halt when the churning in his stomach forces him to lean over and vomit into the sand. It burns his esophagus and he is left dry heaving long after it has passed.

_You have all but become a sin eater._

Emet-Selch's irritating voice repeats like a broken record inside his head. He swears under his breath and with great effort is he able to stand somewhat upright. He spent the last several days lying in bed at the Pendants, drifting in and out of consciousness but aware enough to understand Ryne was running herself ragged trying to contain the light. She has accomplished little more than delaying the inevitable, and he refused to remain there any longer and burden them all, nevertheless turn and endanger them.

_Seek me out at my abode,_ _in the dark depths of the Tempest._

He'd much rather die a miserable death at the bottom of the ocean.

Although he isn't sure what he's looking for, and he can hardly think straight, he is pretty sure he'll know it when he sees it, and sure enough, he finds what he is looking for. If he wasn't still on the verge of vomiting, Karma would laugh at the blurry shapes of the underwater city of the likes he has never seen in the valley below.

How ridiculous, yet strangely familiar.

He ignores the nagging feeling as he makes his way down, having to stop occasionally to lean against the nearby rockface to catch his breath, to right his sense of balance—to squeeze his eyes shut and force the light down like some rabid dog. It is becoming increasingly difficult for him to concentrate, for him to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

"You don't have to do this."

Karma does laugh then, unable to help himself, though it's more of a wheeze. He doesn't have to look to confirm it was Ardbert who'd spoken. Ardbert, his constant companion since his arrival on the First, has decided now is the time to speak up after having made himself scarce.

He doesn't hold it against him—he wouldn't want to accompany someone on their death walk either. It'd be depressing.

"I d-don't have to do most things," Karma says in return, his voice a shadow of its former self. It hurts to speak. "B-But I do them anyway."

Ardbert moves into his line of sight. He stands directly in front of him, and even still, Karma struggles to make out the features of his face. Not helping matters is how decidedly not solid Ardbert is, what with being a dead man and all.

"Surely there is another way," Ardbert insists.

As right as he may be, Karma merely shakes his head, resigned, and he is barely able to muster the strength to push himself off the wall. He pretends not to notice how long his fingers are or how what were his nails scrape against the stone. He staggers forward, almost doesn't catch himself before he'd have fallen, and vaguely does he hear Ardbert make a frustrated, distressed noise over his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Stubborn determination drives him forward.

Unfortunately, he doesn't make it into the city before he collapses to his hands and knees, the light surging within him. It spills over his lips, fills his mouth, and he chokes on it, hyperaware of how his skin is stretched too thin, how his back is _burning_ —

Ardbert desperately calling his name is lost within the cacophony of ripping skin and cracking, shifting bones. Karma cries out but the sound he makes is not one he recognizes as himself—it is less of a cry, and more of an inhuman screech that seems to rattle the seafloor beneath him.

He is too far gone to notice the displacement of aether but with eyes weeping rivers of gold does he see Emet-Selch when his chin is forcefully lifted. Emet-Selch is smiling at him, and as the light consumes him, he doesn't understand why it feels a lot like coming home.


End file.
